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SONG OF DAVID

David, whose eyes are deep pools of lonely hurt,
David, whose name rouses odors of grass

And silent, far-off mountain,
And silent, grazing herds,
David, whose namesake sang hymns of adoration
To a silent, unnameable Yahweh,
To a silent unknowable sky.
DAVID---thy songs are unlike his.
Can no one show thee beauty?
And none make thee a love?
Are the hills thou hast roamed and
The herds thou hast tended

so dark?
David, whose songs are pictures of ugliness,
Does thy heart know how to smile?
David, thy songs are mourning-songs;
Thy songs are poetry-sadness.
David, whose eyes are pools of hurt,

Why? Why? Why?
True, my songs are mourning-songs,
And my coat is grieving-black.
The hills I climb are the hills of SolomonJs

child,
But the herds I watch and care for
And the sky I search so endlessly
And the men who share my hillsides
Are not the same my namesake knew.
My songs are mourning-songs.

Oh, David, whose eyes are deep pools of hurt,
Who listens to thy song?

Pat Lawson

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